


Plastic Ships

by GhostHost



Series: The Edge of the Universe and Other Stupid Places to Live. [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AI AU, Cyclonus and Whirl are combat AIs with mech bodies, Human AU, Humanformers, Tailgate is a kickass pilot, and the Lost Light is full of secrets and confusion as always
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: “So here's the dealio. We have searched like, twelve fuckin’ years for a pilot who can figure out your weird ass controls and we finally found one. She’s on the next ship out to us. You,” Rodimus tapped the screen in front of him, filled with one, sole purple line, “-are going to accept her.”“You have only had me for six years, your numbers are invalid." Cyclonus said, sounding rather miffed.ORTiana "Tailgate" Bombber is the newest pilot to board the mess that is the Lost Light Space Station, and she's super excited for it, no matter what rumors she's heard.





	Plastic Ships

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second installment of a series of fics from various perspectives that lead up to one event. They're all stand alone, but I do make references here and there to other fics as they go on. Same as the other fic;
> 
> This is 50% Anne Leckie's Ancillary series, 40% Martha Wells Murderbot Diaries, and 10% a mystery mix of sci fi books and Zoids. There is no Radch, but there are persnickety AIs.
> 
> Warnings: None thus far! You want something up here, throw me a line!

Plastic Ships

Ch 1

Go make a legacy  
Manifest destiny

* * *

 

“So here's the dealio. We have searched like, twelve fuckin’ years for a pilot who can figure out your weird ass controls and we finally found one. She’s on the next ship out to us. You,” Rodimus tapped the screen in front of him, filled with one, sole purple line, “-are going to accept her.”

“You have only had me for six years, your numbers are invalid.” A smooth voice said, sounding rather miffed. It spoke out of a number of speakers around a large console, the purple line jumping as it spoke.

“Ask me how much I don’t care.” Ryan “Rodimus” Prime, Captain of the space station the _Lost Light_ , and total badass revolutionary war hero who was _nothing at all like his brother thanks!_ leaned back in his command chair and completely ignored the expression on his SIC’s face.

“Bottom line: we need you on the front lines and we spent some serious effort here making that happen. I cannot,” Rodimus leaned forward, putting on his Serious Face, “-risk you scaring her off. Got it?”

“Understood, Captain.”

“I’m serious Cyclonus!” Rodimus said with a huff.

“I repeat: I understand.” The purple line said, voice grave. “I will accept the pilot given to me without issue.”

“You’d better.” The Captain grumped, crossing his flame-covered arms and lounging back on his chair. The flames were implants of course, and lit up the room with a burning effect as it raced up and down the human’s tan arms, “You don’t and I’m selling your ass.”

He wouldn’t, of course, but Cyclonus didn’t need to know that.

The purple line vanished, returning the screen to its standby-form.

“Finicky AI’s. Whole stable’s filled with ‘em.” Rodimus grumped again, flicking his hands in the air as he accessed his personal computer--the one built into his brain.

His SIC, an Iranian man who looked like a grizzly bear that had decided to play human for the day, frowned. “If you say so Captain.” He said, resigned.

“I do.” Rodimus said with a grin. “Now--when is that ship coming again?”

Ultra Magnus--the SIC bear man--just sighed.  


xXx

“Welcome Tailgate, to the _Lost Light_ space station!”

“Stop.” Tiana “Tailgate” Bombber moaned, wincing as she came out of cryo. Sleeping in transit was her least favorite thing ever, and not just because she’d once been trapped in cryo for seven years. It just--wasn’t generally a fun thing to do.

“No matter what you’ve heard, the _Lost Light_ is a fully functional battle station at the forefront of our galaxy's defense!”  

 _“Stop._ ” She repeated, struggling to get out of the sleep-pod and re-orient herself to the general direction of gravity. Always tricky in outer space.

“Downloads are available upon entry for the station map, meal tickets, entertainment options, and more! Please note our station map is currently inaccessible due to our Station AI. Warning, the following entertainment venues are currently down: the gun range, outer-hull golf, the anti-gravity room, the--”

“Stop, cease, delete!” Tailgate ranted, hands flicking in the air as she tried to turn the overly loud voice off. “Give me a minute! Primus!”

“You selected to start again! Welcome Tailgate, to the _Lost Light-_ -”

“Oh my god.” Tailgate groaned. She briefly considered logging out of her account, before she remember it was implanted into her brain. Her username--the name everyone called each other these days, unless you really knew and trusted the person you were talking to--flashed before her eyes as her personal computer--the one also implanted into her head--took a moment to connect with the station servers.

For most people it was instantaneous. Most people didn’t have the older equipment Tailgate did. Or well, “alternate” equipment, as people called it now. It was in honor to the family she’d lost long ago and also totally ancient to most the people around her so the slowness of it didn’t bother her.

All that mattered was that it worked.

The ship “thumped” indicating that it had docked. A few more thumps followed, pieces connecting to the ship and filling with air as the ship was swept up in the station’s motion. A seeming decade later, the doors whooshed open, allowing her access to the station itself.

Seeing as she was the only passenger on the little ship, she took her sweet time getting her luggage off it.

Surprisingly, no one was there to greet her when she arrived. This wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d had access to the map--except, unfortunately, the annoying pre-recorded voice had been right. It was inaccessible.

So she stood for a moment, standing in a deserted hallway among her few belongings, wondering vaguely what to do. One finger went to pull on one of her dreadlocks nervously, before she took a good and long breath.

She could do this! She’d find her way to the main hallways, flag someone down, and figure out things from there. That was a good plan right?

Right!

So off she went.

xXx

Tailgate ended up in a bar.

It was a nice bar, if a little dingy. Her suitcase clacked behind her as she tugged it along, backpack slung across her shoulder. She plopped it down once she reached the bar, then hopped into one of the open, tall chairs.

Turns out the station was a bit bigger than she had originally thought. Either that or it just wasn’t staffed as much as she had been told, because she hadn’t encountered a soul since her arrival. In fact the only thing she’d encountered was the extremely paranoid Station AI, who, rather than giving her information, had pinged her with four million identification requests, password checks, and general safety grilling. More so than any other Ship or Station AI she’d ever encountered in her life.

It had finally left her alone though, after begrudgingly giving her directions to the bar.

“You look new!” The bartender, a cute, plump women about Tailgate’s size said, as she cleaned a glass. Curly red hair peeked out of a hat that announced the bar was called “ _Swerve’s!”_ before the women’s head shot back up again.

“You _are_ new!” She exclaimed, then hustled over. “Whoa--you must be the new pilot!”

“Yup.” Tailgate said, forced smile finally breaking into a real one. “I’m Tailgate!”

“Swerve of _Swerve’s!”_ The women said,indicating her hat. “Pleasure to meet you!”

They shook, exchanging growing smiles.

“No one meet you at the gate?” Swerve asked, leaning on her bar.

Tailgate shook her head

“Here--I’ll comm Magnus. He’s usually all over this stuff, I’m amazed you got in without his whole spiel.” Swerve’s eyes unfocused as she accessed her comms. “Feel a little bad subjecting you to him,” She said as she did, fingers twitching, “--but if you can survive his speech you can survive anything.”

Doubt crept into Tailgate’s stomach. “Is he harsh?” She asked. She didn’t do well with those types of higher ups. At least, not internally. Yelling was just not a good motivator for her.

“Nah, just boring.” Swerve said, focusing back as she sent her message off. “He’s a good guy! Just a little...much. For people. He says he’ll be here in ten minutes, four seconds--no doubt full of apologies.” Swerve shook her head. “Want a drink while you wait?”

“I’d love one!” Tailgate said.

Exactly ten minutes and four seconds later, Ultra Magnus arrived, full of apologies just as Swerve had said. Tailgate didn’t mind though--those ten minutes had been enough to make her a friend! Those, she thought, were more precious then getting settled right away anyway.

 

xXx

Ultra Magnus was a very kind man who did not know when to shut up.

Tailgate felt bad for thinking it, but the tour she’d agreed to had lasted two hours. Neither hour had involved seeing her mech or meeting her new AI partner,  both things she was desperate to do.

She’d always wanted one of her own. The Academy’s were alright, if a little too cheerful or cautious, but an AI who became a _partner_ was a whole new thing. Not to mention her own mech to go with it!

She’d seen pictures of it already of course. Bipedal--rare these days. Looked a touch like a samurai _Gundam_ but it had the neatest sword. It was an Old Guard--a mech from an era long past. Rodimus had made a point of talking up how it had been Emperor Galvatron’s personal AI, but Tailgate didn’t need him to tell her that.

She’d recognized Cyclonus herself.

The Empire was long broken apart but some pieces of it still existed. Tailgate had come from one such piece--her clan upholding key pieces of the morals, rules, and general way of life from those times. Her implants were a part of that--and it was for the reason she had been recruited as a pilot.

Recruited as Cyclonus’s pilot--an honor so high her clan would’ve fallen over themselves in unison if they’d been alive to see it. Tailgate swept those thoughts away though--the sad sting of remembering those whose lives were lost at near-end of the Centuries long Autobot-Decepticon war. Her family certainly honored her from the beyond! This was a time to celebrate--and bond with her new AI!

If she could just, you know, meet him.

Two hallways, six flights of stairs and a massive metal doorway later, Tailgate was finally in the hanger. Her guide didn’t waste time, not bothering to introduce her to other mechs or people, leaving Tailgate to constantly struggle to keep up as she got distracted by one thing or another.

“Here he is!” Ultra Magnus gestured forward, only to frown immediately at the blatantly empty parking spot.

“He was supposed to be moved from the Backers section.” Ultra Magnus said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please forgive me, I didn’t think I’d have to ride herd on this.”

“No problem!” Tailgate said. “You uh, know where he is though, right?”

“Of course.” Magnus turned, walking forward, through the hanger and into the one next to it. “Follow me.”

The hanger was enormous--way bigger than a station this size should have had. It contained a number of mechs, mostly quadrupedal and in the shape of various Earth animals, but a handful of bipeds too. There were easily fifteen, with space for twenty five total.

For a station that only housed 500 or so people, that was _insane._

Even more so when Tailgate realized Magnus was leading her to a second hanger. A much smaller one, yes, but a second one all the same. This one appeared to only hold roughly five mechs, two of which were bipedal.

A gorgeous, teal blue bird-looking thing--and Cyclonus.

Excitement got the better of her and Tailgate rushed right ahead, skipping past Magnus and going straight to her new mech.

He was massive--over 60 feet. He was made to be one of the largest single-pilot mechs in the fleet and pictures didn’t do him justice.

The purple metal wasn’t new, but it glistened anyways. The twin horns, now restored, as Galvatron had never repaired the left after his final fight--rose over a regal face. The armor was styled to be both practical and artistic, blending defense and offense capabilities with the appearance of a samurai. The clawed fingers were held at rest easily and attached to his back was the massive, infamous, Great Sword.

Tailgate squealed.

She couldn’t help it, nor could she help running up the flight of stairs to get to the loading ramp. Cyclonus’s cockpit, like most bipedal mechs,was located in his chest rather than in his head, and so it was only two flights up from the main walkway Magnus stood on but it felt like nothing at all.  

She slide to a stop just before the seams, remembering at the last minute to bow to show her respects.

“Hi my name’s Tailgate but I’ll tell you my real name the second we connect, I’m honored to be your new pilot!” She said in one breath. It was fast enough that it embarrassed and winded her, but part of her just didn’t care.

This was Cyclonus--her mech! Her _AI!_

Formal introduction over she accessed her personals, the computer and implants in her head, and sent out an invitation through a friendly ping.

It was answered, and accepted, immediately.

The massive mech suddenly moved, it’s head turning down, one hand slowly coming up to thump its chest once. “I, Cyclonus, recognize and welcome my new pilot, Tailgate.” It boomed, voice just as regal as his features. “May my hands be yours, my sword act in your power.”

Tailgate beamed up at him.

The hand fell away, just as chestplates whirred, parting smoothly as a door appeared. She wasted no time, rushing in. Newer mechs had lifts or drop down stairs that led to the control chair but older ones had a simple hallway that lead straight to their center.

The chair was plush, built for high impact, and facing her. She had to hop to get in it, and once seated her feat didn’t touch the floor. The door hissed closed behind her. She fastened both restraints--one strap over her lap, two straps over each shoulder. The modified OTSR restraint dropped by itself--a padded, flexible bar that mimicked a rollercoaster’s over the shoulder restraint.

Screens, lights and buttons flicked to life, one massive screen dropping down where the door had been and connecting itself to the floor. Smaller displays worked to connect until Tailgate almost had a full, 360 view, along with multiple readouts regarding both Cyclonus, herself, and her surroundings.

Pedals rose from the floor once, then gently rose again when it became clear Tailgate couldn’t reach them. Panels slid aside and expanded, the command chair suddenly gaining rows of buttons and levers, all within arms reach.

ONLINE the screen displayed. It blinked twice, then changed to;

CONNECT?

Tailgate punched the button for yes.

Cyclonus was already in her head--this part was simply a formality. Or maybe more, for people whose equipment and implants weren’t the same as hers, but they had already done the equivalent of “shaking hands.” Now Tailgate accessed her personals, giving the command for full access, envisioning throwing open “the doors” wide in welcome.

She felt Cyclonus approach--a combination of a coldness on her forehead, like the lightest touch of a wet washcloth, combined with the sensation of someone being “there.” He acknowledged  her welcome, pinging her his thanks--and “stepped” in.

This part was always the hardest to explain, though she did her best for Swerve the next day. She’d been told most people simply felt a “presence” in their heads, with that presence able to access the “screens” and computer like interfaces they all saw floating before their eyes when they accessed their personals.

Hers was a little more intimate. Cyclonus didn’t simply become a presence in her head--he became a part of her. He wasn’t a simple observer but someone who could take over. Move an arm, if he so choose. He would of course, have to fight against her to do it if she didn’t want him to, but the ability was there.

Tailgate closed her eyes, focusing on her inner--and sent the biggest amount of internal positive vibes she possibly could to her visitor.

Her response was surprise quickly covered by Cyclonus quickly granting her access to his own “headspace,” allowing Tailgate to slowly absorb not just the controls for the mech, but things that she generally needed, such as the ping address and the station map. It was the version for AI’s, and clearly made by one who was not the Station AI, which didn’t surprise her at all, but she thanked him anyway--and then just.

Existed. For a moment. Let herself be one with him.

He allowed it, though a quickly brushed away strand of “thought” let her know he found it uncomfortable. She wasn’t certain why--but could come up with a number of reasons and so politely resurfaced, opening her eyes.

Tailgate looked around, making sure all the controls now made sense. She itched to take Cyclonus out for a spin--put actions to thoughts, and was halfway through sending a command for Cyclonus to fully power up when Ultra Magnus sent a polite ping and she was reminded she wasn’t scheduled for space flight for another two days.

“I take it everything’s to your satisfaction?” Magnus spoke, one of the rare humans who didn’t yell when speaking to a pilot inside their mech. Tailgate didn’t think Magnus was a pilot himself, which made that odd, but then she figured plenty of people who weren’t combatants piloted mechs for other reasons. Perhaps Magnus had, before he’d become the _Lost Light’s_ SIC.

“Right, sorry!” She said, powering down her cockpit and accessing the doors. She didn’t want to leave, not when Cyclonus’s cockpit finally felt like hers, but she scrambled to do so anyway.

They’d have all the time in the future for that.

“So the next part of the tour,” Ultra Magnus started once she’d gotten back in front of him forced her to hide a groan, but at least now, she had her AI with her.

In the invisible realm of higher intelligence programs, one AI nudged another.

“Shit she wa _s cute!_ Cyc you lucky bug you!”

Cyclonus, who was in the process of tracking his new human while also collecting information to better serve her, ignored the feeling, and continued to ignore it when the second AI kept buzzing about him.

Whirl would go away eventually.

His pilot, would not.


End file.
